


dates

by fuckitfireeverything



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, because there isn't enough fic of them out there, melissa and the sheriff get coffee and try not to talk about the fact that werewolves exist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 06:37:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckitfireeverything/pseuds/fuckitfireeverything
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time they get coffee, it's not a date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dates

The first time they get coffee, it's not a date. It's just two adults who happen to have just been face with the sudden stunning information that werewolves exist, having coffee to try to find some sense of normalcy amidst the tidal wave of new information their sons have delivered to them unsolicited.

He gets a black coffee and she gets an espresso because she’s got a late shift that night, and they sit at a little table in the back corner of the shop and try to talk about anything but werewolves — work, lacrosse, the difficulties of raising a teenage son on your own, especially one that seems to have an unusually strong propensity for putting himself in mortal danger. 

He leaves after an hour to get back to the station and she makes him promise that they’ll do this again, because if she can’t pretend things are normal with anyone she might very well go crazy just thinking about it. 

And so it becomes a regularity: coffee on Thursdays, unless she has to cover a shift for someone else, in which case they go Friday mornings before he has to go to work. Sometimes they talk about werewolves — when he’s got cases to solve that he think might be supernatural in nature, or when Scott comes home smelling of wolfsbane with a gash in his side that won’t heal — but usually, they just talk about life. About parent-teacher conferences or the news, about the geriatric patient who won’t stop hitting on her or about the teenager who vandalized the same gas station three nights in a row and thought he wouldn’t get caught. About anything but werewolves. It’s nice; normal is nice, and they both start to get used to it.

 

The first time they get dinner, it’s not a date. There have been a string of related murders on the edge of town and he’s so tired he oversleeps on Friday, so when he calls to reschedule for coffee she suggests dinner instead. 

Of course, Stiles insists he can’t eat junk food, so they go somewhere nice. He’s never been, and she’s always wanted to go, and they’ve got a Stiles-approved menu. It’s nicer than he intended, really, a little more upscale than your usual dinner with a friend, so he feels bad when the check comes and it’s a little on the pricier side. He pays before she can reach for the check.

She feels guilty the entire drive home for letting him pay, so the next week she insists on dinner again and insists on paying for him this time.

That time’s not a date either, but it’s closer. 

The waiter certainly thinks it’s a date, offering them a free bottle of wine “for the lovely couple” and seating them at a close little table in the back with low lighting and the nicest folded napkins he thinks he’s ever seen. They even split an appetizer, because the waiter suggests it’s too much for one, and if his hand brushes hers reaching for a piece of fried calamari, he doesn’t say anything. And if she blushes a little at the touch, flush hidden by the shadows and the way she ducks her head like an embarrassed teenage girl, she doesn’t say anything either. 

 

The third time they go to dinner together, it’s a date. His voice shakes a little when he asks her, over the phone, and he dresses up and buys her flowers and gives himself a pep talk as he walks up to her door because he hasn’t done this in twenty-five years.

She spends an hour getting ready and Scott starts to get worried that she might have drowned in the shower she’s using so much water, and she paints her nails — she never paints her nails — for good luck, because she hasn’t done this in twenty-five years either. 

Dinner is nice. They talk about work and the crime show she’s started watching because it’s the only thing on when she’s on night call and how his son’s grounded for sneaking out to see his boyfriend and anything but werewolves. The food is good, the wine is better, and when the check comes they both reach for it at the same time; instead of insisting he leans across the table and kisses her.

She still has a a little bit of chocolate icing on her lip from the cake she’d tempted him into sharing with her, and he tastes it when he kisses her, just a gentle touch of the lips, but he hasn’t kissed anyone in seven years, and it’s nice. 

As far as first dates go, it’s better than either of them remember first dates ever going. And it doesn’t involve werewolves. 

 

He brings her take-out at the hospital some nights and they eat at the nurse’s station; other nights she cooks when neither of them are working late and Scott is out doing werewolf things. They go to the movies and she comes home to flowers on her doorstep some days and he smiles more than usual, the tension in his shoulders releasing after seven long years.

They still complain about their sons. They still fight over who gets the check at dinner. They still get coffee every Thursday afternoon. Only now, those are dates, too. 

 

Stiles and Scott don’t have to know. At least, she has no intention of telling them, and neither does he. They’re in agreement on the subject of their songs: it’s fine, it’s totally fine. 

They don’t exactly hide it, not really. They just conveniently forget to mention it. Conveniently manage to not be in the same place as them at the same time. It will come up eventually, they’re sure. But if their sons could keep werewolves a secret from them for a year, they can afford to not tell them they’re dating. 

And if Stiles starts to notice that his dad isn’t home some nights to catch him sneaking his boyfriend in through the window? Well, neither of them think Stiles will mind that too much.


End file.
